


You travel in and keep emitting light

by FanchonMoreau



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:05:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9350210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanchonMoreau/pseuds/FanchonMoreau
Summary: I'm Serena Campbell's girlfriend.Snippets of Bernie and Serena stumbling through the early stages of their relationship.





	1. A Modest Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> These were originally posted on my tumblr via various prompt memes, just putting them all in one place! Rating doesn't apply to all, but it definitely applies to some. 
> 
> Elinor isn't in any of these but she's perfectly fine.

Bernie’s not prepared for Holby at Christmas.

Or, more precisely, Bernie isn’t prepared for _Serena_ at Christmas.

She would have expected it from Morven and Fletch, and maybe Raf. But it’s Serena who shows up to work with enough reindeer antlers for the entire staff of AAU (Bernie finds two pairs, _two pairs,_ on her desk with a note that says _it’s festive! patients love them!_ ). 

And when Raf starts wearing a Santa hat around the ward, well, Bernie can’t say for sure where it came from but she certainly has her suspicions. 

She spends the morning berating herself for not guessing that Serena loves Christmas, and for not thinking of a gift more creative than a vintage bottle of red. It’s easier than berating herself for everything _else_ that she’scocked upabout her relationship with Serena, but it still makes for an unpleasant morning. She’d promised her new therapist that whenever she had these thoughts about not being good enough for Serena or not deserving Serena, that she’d actively counter it with all of the evidence she has to the contrary. Most of it provided, of course, with warmth and love from Serena herself. 

Yeah, she _definitely_  doesn’t deserve Serena.

She’s sitting at her desk and doodling on a draft of the action plan when Serena waltzes in and shuts the door behind her. 

“Right,” Serena says, “it appears that we’re running low on lubricant.” 

Bernie leans back in her chair and starts tapping her pen on her palm. “Are you sure _?_ Because I’m pretty certain there was plenty left in the bottle, even after last night…” 

Serena sighs a long-suffering sigh, but Bernie can hear the affection in it. “The _ward,_ Bernie. The _ward_ is running out of lubricant. Perfect thing for Fletch to deal with on his first day back.” 

“Oh, poor Fletch,” Bernie laughs. She can’t stop smiling. She’s been under a cloud all morning and as soon as Serena steps into the room she can’t stop bloody smiling. 

“Anyway, it’s disappearing far quicker than we’re actually using it on our patients, which can only mean that our staff is stealing it.” 

Bernie gasps in mock horror. “A lube thief!” 

Serena, who has thus far made an admirable effort to take this situation seriously, breaks into a giant, naughty smile. “Not a lube thief, lube thieves!” She grabs the extra chair and pulls it up next to Bernie’s desk, close enough that their knees knock slightly. Bernie quashes the impulse to reach out and put her hand on Serena’s thigh.

“You see, it can’t possibly be just one person,” Serena continues, relishing every word. “Too much lube is gone for that. It’s everyone thinking that if they take just, I don’t know, one small bottle’s worth, then no one will notice! And they’ll have saved some money in the process. But we do a little thing called _inventory,_ and trust me, no one can hide from that.” 

Bernie just nods. Serena’s eyes are sparkling, and if Bernie doesn’t look away, she’s going to do something stupid like kiss Serena with the office’s blinds open. 

But she can’t look away.

“So, what are we going to do about it?” Bernie asks. 

Serena sighs. “Distribute a memo, probably. Which will be a joy to write. To all AAU staff… contrary to popular belief, this is a hospital, not some kind of sex shop, so you’re going to have to get your personal lubricant surreptitiously off the internet like the rest of us.” 

Bernie smirks, rolls her desk chair a little closer to Serena. “Well, _we_ made some pretty good discoveries online, if I do say so myself.” 

Serena leans in and nudges Bernie. “Shut up, you.” 

Serena takes Bernie’s hand, squeezes it once, and then gets up from her chair. Bernie looks back at her quizzically. _That’s all?_

“Does it have to be a memo?” Bernie blurts out. Serena turns around. “I mean,” Bernie continues, “why not make a speech?” 

Serena snorts a laugh. “Because that worked out so well the last time?”

“All right, maybe not a speech,” Bernie concedes. “But…” 

Serena raises an eyebrow at her, and Bernie knows she has to come up with something good. She takes a moment to think and then… _perfect_. 

“I propose a Christmas carol,” Bernie says. “Tell the ward you need to, I don’t know, brief everyone on the Christmas carol contest and maybe do a little sing a long? Except when you pass out the words to the carols, they’re not the real words, they’re actually a memo about use of personal lubricant. In _song_ form.” 

Bernie kicks back in her desk chair and crosses her arms. When she’s good, she is _good_. 

“That,” Serena says, “is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my life.” 

Bernie feels her face fall. “Well, I thought…” 

“That we could do an x-rated version of Come O Come Emmanuel?” Serena counters. But she’s smiling. She walks right up to Bernie, rotates Bernie’s desk chair around, and then kneels down and starts kissing Bernie’s face.

“You… are… completely… disgusting…” Serena says between kisses.

“ _You’re_ disgusting,” is all Bernie can manage in response. Serena kisses her lips. Bernie can feel her heart pounding through the pulse point in her neck. 

“Then perhaps we deserve each other,” Serena says against Bernie’s lips.  

Bernie breathes out. She looks at her girlfriend, _I’m Serena Campbell’s girlfriend,_ and thinks, well, of course. I deserve her. We deserve each other. 

She goes in for another kiss. 


	2. Except Perhaps in Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely at least mature-rated.

Serena’s recent Google search history is a nightmare. 

Thank god Jason taught her how to clear her computer’s cache and cookies all those months ago. Since Bernie kissed her the first time, she’s searched for: late in life lesbians, mid-life lesbians, lesbians in menopause, bisexuality, sexual fluidity in older women, how to perform cunnilingus (and then the necessarily more specific: how to perform cunnilingus lesbian), sex toys for lesbians, double-ended dildos (which she’s not quite sure are practical but then again what on earth does she know), strap ons, lesbian sex during menopause, Kinsey scale, and libido changes in older women.

That last one she keeps coming back to. She remembers the brochure that she got from her gynaecologist, one that featured a smiling woman in a vest with autumn leaves falling around her, about the “challenges and joys of perimenopaue.” She had chucked it in the bin, she did go to medical school and is quite well-versed in how menopause works, thank you very much, but she distinctly remembers “vaginal dryness/lack of sex drive” having its own section. 

It was something she and Robbie coped with, when they were together. They found they could make anything workable with some lubricant, some patience, and a fair bit of cunnilingus on his part. He was the first man Serena had been with who really knew what he was doing in that department. She wasn’t impressed so much as confused as to why it had taken so long. 

Not that that stopped Robbie’s ego from ballooning, when she admitted that to him. _You have to commit to it,_ he’d said. _Otherwise it’s no good._

Say what you will about Bernie Wolfe, but she certainly doesn’t lack commitment. 

Serena thinks about this far more than is productive. Bernie crawling above her, snapping the elastic on Serena’s knickers before pulling them down and tossing them off the bed. Bernie pinning her against a door, _any_ door, and kissing her way down Serena’s chest, her belly, lower, lower, running her fingers through Serena’s damp public hair and then opening her up. And by far the worst one: Bernie perched under Serena’s desk, licking Serena thoroughly while Ric or Hanssen or Guy fucking Self is trying to engage her on something _extremely_ important.

A hormonal teenager. Yeah, Raf doesn’t know the half of it. 

It’s inevitable that she imagines how it would work the other way around, too. As much as she’s read on the subject (and she’s now read far more than she would admit to anyone), she knows that nothing’s going to prepare her for the reality of going down on a woman. She can perhaps sympathize now with all of the men who tried very hard to be good at it but couldn’t quite get there.

But it wouldn’t be just any woman. It’d be _Bernie,_ and that’s the sticking point _._ To be allowed to be that intimate with Bernie, to be able to touch and taste her at her most vulnerable moment, _that_ thought causes Serena’s brain to short-circuit and leaves her shoving her hand down her knickers at the end of every work day. 

Her sex drive is supposed to be _decreasing,_ for crying out loud. The extra orgasms are all well and good, but she’d like to be able to do her job and take care of her nephew and get over whatever the hell happened with Bernie, and this libido spike is not helping. 

Just as well. At the end of a particularly long day, Serena spots one of the nurses carrying some of those booklets on menopause, the one with the falling leaves on the cover. Autumn’s a terrible metaphor. If she has to pick a season to describe whatever it is she’s going through, she’d pick spring: a stupid, stubborn spring that keeps on spitting up flowers and doesn’t know when to stop. 

Serena sighs and walks back to her car. She can’t see an end to this from where she’s standing. And worse: she doesn’t want to. 


	3. Things you said with no space between us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this one's explicit! 
> 
> Also: don't own West Side Story. And, uh, apologies to Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim.

Serena’s spent nearly half an hour going down on Bernie: her neck is cramped, her lips are buzzy and numb (and her lipstick, a rather fetching ruby, is now smeared somewhere on the inside of Bernie’s thigh), and her nose has ended up mashed in an awkward position. She’s curled her fingers inside Bernie in the way she _knows_ works, and her wrist is aching from the effort of thrusting. 

It’s all quite uncomfortable, but there’s no way in hell she’s going to stop or slow down, because Bernie is making _noise_. And that’s not how’s it been so far, so far Serena’s been the loud one. Bernie gasps, she hums, she murmurs Serena’s name and curses under her breath– her whole repertoire of soft sounds is achingly, gorgeously erotic. But she doesn’t cry out.

Oh, but she’s crying out now.

Serena feels Bernie as she hears her: her inner walls clench just as her voice breaks. Serena withdraws her mouth but keeps her fingers moving, cramps be _damned,_ because if Bernie’s as worked up as she sounds, there’s another orgasm to be had here. 

And she’s right, as it turns out. Bernie stutters out _Serena_ and _oh, shit_ and _I’m going to…oh, god_ beforeshe comes again. Serena watches Bernie throw her head back and lose herself in the orgasm and she thinks: _this is the most beautiful thing to ever happen in my bed._

Also that at the rate they’re mucking up the sheets, it might be time to invest in a new pair. Right. Good errand for her next morning off. 

Serena rests her cheek on Bernie’s thigh as Bernie recovers. She’d move up but shifting her neck at the moment seems like a gargantuan task. Besides, it’s quite a nice view from where she is. 

Bernie chuckles from further up the bed. “Holy shit, _Serena_. That was…. really, um. That was something.” 

Serena kisses the top of Bernie’s thigh, and then flicks her eyes up to Bernie’s face. “Glad you thought so,” she teases lightly. “Because I think I may need to fall asleep down here, if it’s all right with you.” 

Bernie bites her lip and smiles. “No, no, we can’t have have that. Up you come,” she says, and she leans over, grabs Serena by the underarms and hauls her up the bed. 

Serena settles down with her head tucked into Bernie’s shoulder. Her lips and chin are sticky, but just as she goes to clean it off with the back of her hand, Bernie leans down and kisses her. 

Bernie has to kiss her lips and chin several times to wipe away all the mess. “Seems you _really_ enjoyed that,” Serena all but purrs. 

“Oh, god,” Bernie groans, but Serena can hear and feel her smile. “I’ve created a monster.” 

The sheets rustle beneath them as Serena leans up on her elbow. “I daresay I deserve to be a bit smug. You. Came. Twice,” she says, punctuating each word with a kiss to Bernie’s shoulder. 

“That I did,” Bernie says, and she shifts on her side so she‘s facing Serena. “How can I ever repay you?” 

Serena raises her eyebrows. She has several suggestions, each one filthier than the next, but before she can say anything, Bernie starts to _sing_. 

“ _Serena_ …” she sings, to the tune of _Maria_  from _West Side Story_. 

“What on Earth are you doing?”

“I’m serenading you!” Bernie says, as if it’s obvious. “ _I just met a girl named Serena…_ how does the rest go?” 

Serena makes a show of rolling her eyes, but she’s grinning. “ _And suddenly that name will never be the same to me,” s_ he supplies _._ She’s much closer to an actual pitch than Bernie was a moment ago. 

“That’s it! Yes. I’m going to have to rewatch _The Sound of Music_ , aren’t I?” 

“No, no, no, no,” Serena says sternly. “No, _that’s_ from _West Side Story!”_

Bernie gives her an adorable befuddled look. “Is it? But it’s about Maria!” 

“Yes,” Serena says. She reaches out to stroke Bernie’s naked hip. “But there’s a Maria in _West Side Story.”_

Bernie scoots closer to Serena and wraps both of her arms around her. “Oh, is there?” She moves in and kisses Serena lightly. 

“Mmm hmm,” Serena hums as she deepens the kiss. If they have another go, she’s going to be tired on her morning shift, and her neck’s definitely going to feel it. But the kiss tastes of Bernie, Bernie who is a terrible singer and won’t win them any points on pop culture on quiz night, Bernie who makes her laugh right before she goes to sleep and then again right when she wakes up, Bernie who makes her feel like she’s sixteen and she’s seeing stars and that _she_ could burst embarrassingly into song at any moment. 

And Serena just doesn’t see the point of resisting it. 


	4. Things you said when you were drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen and up rating for this one. Some Star Wars spoilers maybe? Mostly for the original trilogy. 
> 
> Shout out to Guy Henry for being in both Holby and Rogue One.

Serena and Bernie take Jason to see _Rogue One_ a few nights before Christmas. 

They get fish and chips before, so as not to break their routine, and then Serena pretends to be interested in an intergalactic space conflict for over two hours. She remembers sitting and watching the original trilogy with Elinor, god, it must have been fifteen years ago, because one of her friends had dressed as Princess Leia for Halloween.

Outside of that, and a general affinity for young Harrison Ford, she knows very little about the series.

But it’s more than bearable, those two hours in the theatre, because a few minutes into the movie Bernie’s fingertips _accidentally_ brushhers. And they end end up holding hands through the film like fifteen-year-olds on their first date. Serena feels herself go hot whenever Bernie shifts her thumb or squeezes their fingers together. It leaves her smiling and giggling at the most inappropriate times, and that earns her a few dirty looks from Jason. 

“I enjoyed it very much,” Jason says at the end, “but I would have enjoyed it more had Auntie Serena been paying attention.” 

Serena doesn’t bother arguing with him, as she’s sure she couldn’t answer a single question about the movie’s plot. Or any of its characters. 

Jason and Bernie spend the car ride home working out how the film fits into the series as a whole. Jason has the series practically memorized; Serena was once privy to a rather intense conversation between him and Alan on why the only _proper_ order in which to watch the six movies is 4, 5, then 1, 2, 3 as a flashback of sorts, and then 6 for the conclusion. Alan disagreed, but they did make some kind of peace around generally liking the new installment. 

Bernie’s not as informed as Alan was, but she can keep up with Jason. They discuss something about the film’s villains and the death star before something catches Serena’s ear: 

“Okay, so I’m not sure if this was just me,” Bernie says, “but did Grand Moff Tarkin sound a little bit like Mr. Hanssen?” 

Serena can hear Jason’s eyes light up. “I heard it as well. Apparently there was a lot of effort put into recreating Peter Cushing’s original performance with a combination of CGI and motion capture, but I found the results to be unsatisfactory. It’s impossible to focus on Grand Moff Tarkin’s role in the story when you’re distracted by fact that Peter Cushing has been dead for twenty years. Or if, as you said, the new actor’s voice sounds exactly like Mr. Hanssen. What did you think, Auntie Serena?”

“I don’t think I heard it,” Serena mutters as she shifts the car into the right lane. 

“Do you even know which one Grand Moff Tarkin _is_?” Jason asks, clearly relishing the opportunity to prove that she wasn’t watching the movie at all. 

“One of the baddies?” Serena tries. Jason barks out a laugh and an _I knew it,_ and even Bernie can’t quite stop herself from laughing. Serena looks forward to chewing her out for that later, so to speak, as this is all her fault. 

Jason retreats to his bedroom to rewatch the original trilogy _without distraction,_ and Serena opens up a bottle of Shiraz and box of chocolates for her and Bernie.

“How do you know so much about Star Wars anyway?” she asks as Bernie plops down beside her on sofa. 

Bernie doesn’t answer. Instead she leans over, selects one of the pieces of dark chocolate from the box, and takes her time chewing and swallowing. 

“I, um,” Bernie starts, and Serena recognizes the nervous titter in her voice. She’s unsure of what Bernie would have to be embarrassed about, but she runs a comforting hand between Bernie’s shoulder blades anyway. 

“I spent a lot of time with the boys as a kid, so lots of Star Wars,” Bernie stutters out, before taking a long sip of wine and looking away. Right, definitely more to that, Serena thinks, but she doesn’t push any further. 

They stay on the couch for another hour or so, cracking open another bottle of wine and laughing through Serena’s stories of the truly unfortunate holiday injuries she’s had to patch up. Serena’s not sure how they get from talking about tinsel accidents to snogging heatedly on the couch, but she suspects the nearly two bottles of wine they’ve had has something to do with it. 

“It was Princess Leia,” Bernie pants out, quite suddenly, between kisses. 

“What?” 

“The gold bikini,” she says guiltily, as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I used to rewatch… to see Leia strangle Jabba the Hut in the gold bikini. I, um, thought I just liked seeing her kill the bad guy…”

“…But that wasn’t what was going on?” Serena finishes for her. 

Bernie scoffs lightly. “Not that I realized it until years later.” 

Serena makes a point of offering her a gentle smile. She knows that Bernie is still grappling with her sexuality, that her experience hasn’t been at all like Serena’s, and that even though she’s been with women before she still needs support. Even so, it’s very sexy to think of young Bernie watching Star Wars and getting all worked up over Princess Leia. 

“Have a thing for brunettes in power, then?” Serena breathes as she brings her face as close as she can to Bernie’s without kissing her. Bernie grins before leaning in and not _quite_ kissing her, but nibbling and licking at her lips. 

“Maybe,” Bernie whispers as she shifts her attention to Serena’s neck. 

Serena groans. Not a fair move, that. She knows Jason’s still awake, and with their complete inability to be quiet when they have sex, she knows that they’ll have to put a damper on this at least until he goes to bed. 

“If that’s your fantasy,” Serena says, “then I’m sure I can fish my gold bikini out of storage.” 

Serena can feel Bernie giggling against her neck.

“And if you really want to go all out,” Serena adds smugly, “we can have Mr. Hanssen voice the bad guy.” 

That gets Bernie’s attention. She pulls back and guffaws at Serena. “Mr. Hanssen?”

“What?” Serena tries to look as innocent as she can manage. “You said they sounded alike!” 

“But that’s Grand Moff Tarkin, he’s not even in _The Return of the Jedi!”_ Her voice sounds frustrated, but there’s a huge smile on her face. 

“It’s been fifteen years since I’ve seen Star Wars!” Serena fires back. “How on Earth am I supposed to remember that?” 

“I mean, even if you _didn’t_  remember,” Bernie starts, “you probably shouldn’t bring up our boss when I’m trying to…” Bernie can’t quite finish what she’s saying, so she gestures vaguely. She can be infuriately skittish when talking about sex sometimes, and it drives Serena bonkers. 

“When you’re trying to fuck me?” Serena says.

“ _Serena!”_  

“What, that’s what you were trying to do, wasn’t it?” Serena can’t stop herself from smirking.

Bernie opens her mouth to respond, but she just bursts out laughing. It’s a loud, wild sound that Serena _loves. S_ oon enough they’re both laughing so hard that Jason has to call down and tell them to please quiet down, as Luke is about to confront Vader and he is _trying_ not to get distracted this time round. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now. Will likely reopen if I have more cute things to post from prompts.
> 
> Title of the collection adapted from Kim Addonizio's poem ["Stolen Moments."](https://ashlynnfenton.wordpress.com/tag/kim-addonizio/page/2/)


End file.
